


Requests

by agent85



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, awkward Fitzsimmons is awkward
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-24
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-03-08 20:46:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3222878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent85/pseuds/agent85
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post 2x10. When Fitz moves to the garage, Jemma finds herself desperate to see him again. Surely, she can just . . . visit? For purely professional reasons, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Requests

She holds the request in her hands and sighs.

Okay, really it's an order, but she's still getting her head around that part.

As the head of the science division, she should ask an assistant to deliver this. She chuckles to herself at the thought, still not used to having assistants, but there it is. That's the usual protocol. And she sends these off to other areas of the Playground without a problem, but this one is bound for the garage, and she can't bear to part with it.

It's been a full week since he left, and she's been trying to respect his wishes. She's trying to give him what he wants. 

And so far, she's managed to resist asking him to stay.

Because he has every right, really. After all, she left him first. And he's leaving for the same reason she did: she's poison. Still, after weeks of desperate attempts to be helpful, to be something, she still isn't enough. And it doesn't matter how much she misses him, or how incomplete she still feels without him by her side. He's injured, and she'll give him whatever he needs to get better. If he needs her to open a vein, she'll bleed herself dry.

She looks down at the request again, checking for a second, third, fourth time that this request is actually necessary, that it's warranted, because she can't count the times she's been tempted to go down there on the pretense that she needs to borrow a wrench (though she's not sure what she'd do with one), or that she has a question on a report, or that she's checking up on morale. She's also prevented herself from walking past the garage on her way to, well, anywhere she happens to go. 

But she has been granted access to their security feeds, and since she no longer has Ward to monitor, she monitors him. She watches the way he moves, the way he reacts, waiting for a hint of a smile, or any indication that he's okay, that he's still progressing in his recovery. Sometimes she thinks of looking through the feeds from when she was away, but she's decided that it's a privilege she doesn't deserve. 

But it's been a week, she finally tells herself. She's given him a whole week of sanctuary. And what if she waits too long, and he thinks that she doesn't want to see him? No, she's made that mistake already.

She's out the door before she can talk herself out of it.

She's walking at a steady pace, but she feels her hands start to shake, and she has to control her breathing as something Bobbi said stabs her right in the heart, again.

_Ah. Those three little words._

It bothers her, because that's not what he said. He only said that he wanted to show her how much she meant to him. And when she'd woken up, and turned it over in her mind, there seemed to be only one way to interpret his supreme sacrifice: he loves her more than life. Or, at least he did, back then, before she became the salt in his wounds. What if this whole time, she'd completely misinterpreted everything? What if she spent all this time worrying about his falling in love with her, when the truth is that she was only his friend after all?

It should be a relief to her, this new possibility, but it's not. She's spent the last week and half worrying that Leopold Fitz isn't in love with her.

When she reaches the doorway that stands between her space and his, she stops to take a breath and steady herself. She's known him for years and, she reminds herself, a bond forged that deep can't be severed that easily. There has to be a part of that connection that still exists, and as long as she's not hurting him, she'll do whatever she can to keep that connection alive, to make it stronger. Because a Simmons without her Fitz is hardly a Simmons at all.

Suddenly, she remembers Coulson's face at her dining room table, asking if she made friends. The truth is that she was in HYDRA for months, and as lonely as it was, socializing with anyone else seemed pointless. But she still remembers what he said to her.

_You're likable. Use that._

She puts on a smile and takes his advice. She tries to walk briskly towards Mack, avoiding his gaze until she's ready to speak to him.

"Hello there, Mack!"

She still hasn't managed to keep the bitterness out of her voice, to avoid thinking of him as Mack-the-replacement or Mack-the-usurper, but by now she hopes that she's the only one who notices.

Mack regards her coolly. "Simmons," he says, giving a curt nod.

"I have some more instructions on some of the various projects your department has been working on."

She lifts the request so he can see it, but so that he won't try to take it from her. If she's managed to hide her bitterness, she has a feeling that the nervousness she's feeling is seeping through her. 

"I see," says Mack.

"Right, well some of these instructions are a little complex, so I wanted to make sure that, well, I wanted to be able to explain them . . ."

"Fitz is over there."

She looks where he's pointing, but by the time she stammers a thanks, he's shrugged and walked off.

Simmons takes a deep breath.

_You're likable,_  she repeats mentally.  _You're likable._

When he told her that he was moving to the garage, she imagined him in grease-stained coveralls, but the security feeds have prepared her to expect exactly what she finds: Fitz, still in his dark button-up and jumper, still unshaven and without a tie, still at a workbench that is as tidy as the one he had at the Academy.

"Good morning, Fitz!"

She tries to ignore the fact that she might have said it a little too cheerfully, plastering on a smile that she hoped is extremely . . . likable.

"Jemma!"

He says it like she walked in on him, though she's well aware that her shoes click when she walks. Maybe he didn't expect her to come in, but he should have at least heard her.

But he must not have, because he's scrambling to straighten his already-neat desk.

"Am I . . . am I interrupting something?"

He looks up at her with an expression of terror.

"No, I uh . . . I just didn't see you . . . there. I, uh . . . how long have you been standing there?"

"I just came in."

He visibly relaxes.

"Oh, oh good. Wouldn't want to . . . ah . . . keep you . . . waiting."

He's fidgeting again, but when he finally looks at her, it's like he's sizing her up, and in light of everything that's happened, she's still not sure what to make of it.

"Oh, no. No worries there, I just . . . I just came to give you this."

She hands him the request, and she considers that by the way she's stammering, it's really not clear which one of them had the brain injury.

"I just . . . you know . . . thought that I'd give you this in person, just in case you had any questions," she pauses, concerned when he's not looking at her, "or if I . . . if I needed to make any adjustments."

She tries to wait patiently, watching the way he holds himself now, wondering if these mannerisms are temporary and trying not to think that maybe Fitz managed to die for her after all.

When he finally looks at her, his mouth hangs open a little, and she finds that she's the one fidgeting.

"It looks . . ." he stammers, "it looks good, Pretty straightforward, I uh, I think."

"Oh," she says, somewhat disappointed. "Oh, good, I mean, are you sure?"

He looks it over again, but she knows that he doesn't need to. Still, she finds it agonizing to wait for him to meet her eyes again.

"Yeah, it's very . . . clear."

"Good. Well, if you don't have any questions then . . ."

"I don't, really."

"Then I guess I must be going." She gives him another smile. "It's nice to see you, Fitz."

She's not sure if she's been too bold, or not bold enough, but to her surprise, he almost returns her smile.

"Thanks, ma'am, uh, sir, uh . . ." his smile falls as he brings his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"Jemma," she corrects quietly. It's only been in the past year that he's called her that regularly, but she's not letting go of it.

"It's just, um, that you're my superior officer now, and I, uh . . ."

"And  _you're_  my best friend."

She was going to add on, "in the world," but she stops herself before it's too late. Before she brings up bad memories.

The look he gives her then is a strange sort of shock. After a few seconds, she decides to fill the silence.

"I mean, I know you wanted to work _for_  me, and I know things have been difficult, but we are still friends, aren't we?"

She knows that she's standing out on a limb, that she's opened herself up for a crippling blow, but she gave him an out that will hopefully spare both of them. He's her best friend, but she made it very clear that she only has to be a regular friend to him, that she only expects to be a little more than an acquaintance, and that Mack can have whatever title Fitz wants to give him.

But she can't help but hold her breath while she waits for Fitz to react. She's already standing too far away from him, and she's so far resisted buttoning his collar. She's not sure how much more of this torture she'll be able to take.

"Yeah," he finally says, his voice suddenly low, "yeah of course we are." She hears him take in a breath before adding on a, "Jemma."

"Good." She feels like she's just repeating that word over and over, but it's the best she can do. "I, uh, I hope that I'm not bothering you by coming here . . ."

"No, not at all . ."

"Because I was hoping that I could bring you your next assignments. Talk them over with you. If you don't mind."

"No, of course not. If you, uh, have the time."

"I always have time for my most brilliant engineer."

She hates herself the moment she says it, and it gets so awkward that they just end up staring at each other, though Fitz is actually gaping.

"Um, thank . . . thank you."

"No problem." She lets out a sigh of relief. "So, do you, um, do you like it here? In the garage?"

He continues to gape for a second. "Me? Oh, uh, yes. It's fine."

"Good, I'm glad."

"Yeah, thanks."

"I guess I'll, um, see you later then?"

"Of course, Jemma."

When she leaves the garage, she allows herself a victorious smile. 

 

***

 

The second time she comes, she brings tea. Many people wouldn't be able to carry two cups of tea, with a small tablet, while opening and closing doors, but Simmons is exceptionally English. The way he smiles at her makes her decide that she should always come in to the garage this way. She's noticed from her time watching the feeds that he doesn't really seem to make himself tea all that much, and that has to be fixed.

The third time she comes, it's only a few days later, and she's really just bored and looking for a break from her project.

"I thought I'd take a look at your progress," she explains, tea in hand. If he starts to associate her visits with tea, she might be able to create a positive Pavlovian response, and she needs all the help she can get.

He jumps up at her voice, but manages a smile.

"I think you'll . . . uh . . . like what you see."

He explains his progress, but Simmons is actually more interested in how he looks a little more relaxed, like this is a new routine that they've fallen into, and it's working. Maybe he needs his own space, but if that's what helps him get better, she'll bite back her loneliness. She'll force herself to be content with the rare moments she gets to spend with him.

"That's very impressive, Fitz," she eventually says, trying not to sound condescending or dismissive. "I wish I was doing as well with my assignments as you are," she admits.

"What, ah, what do you mean?"

Simmons goes into a bit of detail, explaining how she ran into a wall, and Fitz listens patiently before giving a simple suggestion that changes her whole perspective on the problem. She gets so excited that she barely manages a thank you before she rushes back to the lab to work. When she gets there, she realizes that he didn't follow her, and her excitement turns to held-back tears.

It's okay, she tells herself. She'll go back to the garage in a few days.

It doesn't matter that a few days without Fitz feels like an eternity.

 

***

 

Sometime after the sixth or the seventh time she visits him, she happens to pass by Fitz and Mack as they're playing video games, and the engineer calls out her name.

"Yes?"

"Do you, uh, do you want to play with us?"

She paused. "I . . . haven't played in a while."

"Why don't you just watch," suggests Mack, "then you can get a feel for it and join in on the next round."

She agrees, tentatively, because this reminds her of what they used to do after a particularly grueling day in the SciOps labs, when she'd settle down with a book while he gamed. Eventually, she'd feel him nudge her shoulder, and a controller would land in her lap as Fitz changed out the first-person shooter for a multi-player racing game.

She smiles at the memory, at the ease of their companionable silence in former years. 

She discovers, though, that watching Fitz play with Mack is neither companionable nor silent, as the men are constantly ribbing each other, and it seems like she either has to join in (not, as Coulson would say, "her style"), or be completely forgotten. So, after a few minutes, she politely excuses herself to see what Skye is up to. When she meets Fitz's concerned expression, she gives him a weak smile.

In the past, he would have followed her to see if she was upset. This time, he doesn't. She realizes just how long it's been since she could turn and see Fitz trailing behind. She wonders if he would have followed her to HYDRA, if he'd known.

Probably not, she decides. Fitz always sticks with his best friend, and that's not what she is anymore.

 

***

 

She comes by the next day to make up for her departure, to let him know that they're still . . . whatever they are. She remembers the tea, but forgets the pretense this time. Thankfully, he doesn't ask for one. He just wants to tell her a story about something that happened in the garage this morning, the kind of story where the humor is so technical that it would likely go over the mechanics' heads. She lets herself laugh with him, unrestrained, her hand on his shoulder for support. When she regains control of her lungs, she tells him how funny he is. 

The way he ducks his head and smiles tells her that he could stand to hear a few more compliments. So the next few times she comes in, most of the visits pretense-free, she makes sure that he gets a little but of praise with every cup of tea.

 

***

 

It's been over two months since Fitz left the lab, and she's rounding a corner and overhears a mechanic groaning about how the head of the science division is, in his exact words, "always checking up on them." She freezes, then scoffs to herself.

"Calm down," she hears his companion command, "you know as well as I do that she just comes in to flirt with Fitz. She barely notices that the rest of us exist."

When the first voice gives reluctant agreement, but says she doesn't have to do it  _every single day_ , she buries her face in her hands, frozen in place until she hears them walk off, only able to realize that yes, it has turned into every day, and if they've noticed in the garage, then they've certainly noticed in the lab, and ugh, what has she done?

Then she tries to see her interactions with Fitz through other eyes, and between her compliments and the resurfacing physical contact, she's mortified.

The next time she needs to send updated orders to the garage, she bites her lower lip and sends a messenger.

The time after that, she realizes that she never saw the faces of the two mechanics, so she can't even know if they'll be watching her or not.

The time after that, Fitz stumbles into the lab looking rather lost.

"Ah, Fitz! So nice to see you." She suddenly becomes very interested in the samples that are twirling in the centrifuge.

"Hey, I, uh, I got your latest request." He holds up her orders, and she dares to dart her eyes in his general direction, taking in everything she can before her eyes retreated to her samples.

"Oh, good. Is there . . . are there any problems?"

When she looks back at him, he's staring at the ground. "No, not really. I just, uh, I thought I'd check to see if . . . to see if everything is okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah, between us . . . um, no, I mean, between the garage and the lab."

She pauses, pretending to be stumped, and suddenly unable to stop dry washing her hands. "Well, I certainly can't think of a reason to think that things weren't okay. It appears that everything is progressing on schedule."

"It is," he interjects.

"Right, but if there are any problems, I'll certainly tell you."

"You will, or? I mean, I know that you're . . . you're busy, but we are still . . ."

"Friends?"

"Yeah, are we?"

She sighs, partly at him, partly at her own cowardice. "Of course, Fitz." She tries to pack as much assurance as she can into those three syllables.

"Great, uh, good." He puts his hands behind his back and rocks a little, back and forth, and she thinks that he's about to say something else when he excuses himself and turns to leave.

She has to resist the overwhelming urge to follow him.

 

***

 

The next time she sees him is only twenty-three hours later, when she arrives at a briefing to find that he's also been called in. Coulson explains the mission that they've been assigned to, but she finds herself so distracted by the fact that Fitz is standing all the way on the other side of the room (and not even looking her way, how rude) that when she hears a "Fitzsimmons," she has to ask the director to repeat the question.

Coulson sighs before he repeats, "Do you think you can get it done in time?"

She stares back at him with wide eyes before she hears Fitz say that they definitely can.

Within an hour, they're boarding the BUS, and she's still not clear on what it is she's supposed to be doing, but luckily they've all been given a copy of the mission objectives, and she's so intent on devouring them that she almost knocks Fitz over.

"Whoa, Jemma!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, are you alright?"

She managed to grab his arm before he fell, and as she helps him keep his balance, he is suddenly impossibly close, and she can smell the scent that once was so common and is now like a breath of fresh air.

"Yeah, I'm okay," he answers, and she might be making it up, but it sounds like he's trying to use those words to say something else entirely. If only she knew what it was.

"Good. Again, so sorry."

"Are you . . . are you alright?"

She waits a second before reaching his eyes, and she feels guilty for the concern that she finds in them, because she knows she's been acting strangely.

"Oh, yes. I'm just, having an off day, I think."

"Anything I can do to help?"

She debates it for a second, but then decides to put her pride aside before asking him to explain to her what on Earth they were doing there. She's afraid that he'll laugh, but he doesn't. That, she realizes, is why he's her very best friend.

 

***

 

"So what's off?"

It's an hour later, and they've just finished reverse engineering some HYDRA tech that May and Skye retrieved (a task completed way ahead of schedule, thank goodness).

Jemma looks up at him. "Hmmm?"

"You, ah, you said you were feeling off. Do you know why?"

She knows exactly why, but she has no idea what to tell him because he left the lab, but he drinks her tea, and he ignores her when he's with Mack, but he goes looking for her when she doesn't visit, and he was standing so far away from her before, but he's standing next to her right now and it feels so right and so fragile.

"I guess, I . . ." she takes a gulp, "I guess I miss you, Fitz."

She can see how her words affect him, because he folds his arms and takes a step back. Away from her.

"Well, you've been so busy lately . . ."

"Fitz, do you miss me?"

The words have tumbled out of her lips before she could stop them, and she wants to clamp a hand over her mouth, but she's too shocked.

Fitz doesn't seem to have taken it any better.

"Well," he starts to fidget, "yeah, Jemma. I have. I keep . . . I keep reaching out for your tea, and nothing's there."

It's a good answer, she supposes, but it's not the one she's looking for, and she's been holding herself back for so long, and he is once again giving her a look that she can't decipher.

It's the look, really, that causes her to burst.

"Are you in love with me, Fitz?"

She says it, and immediately she wants to evaporate. Her eyes desperately survey the floor, and her hands are dry washing themselves again. But after a beat or two of silence, she looks up and finds the most defeated Fitz she's ever seen.

"Yeah, Jemma, I am," he finally breathes.

And she knows him, she knows that he's about to apologize, or cry, or both, so she cuts him off before he can start.

"Oh, good."

"Good?"

His questioning eyes meet hers.

"Yeah, good," she answers.

They stand there in silence for a moment, and Jemma decides that it's not the companionable silence they used to have, but it's close.

"Jemma?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you in love with me?"

His question is so quiet, so humble and unassuming, that she finds it doesn't scare her.

"Well, I . . . I just . . . I miss you."

"What do you  . . . what do you miss, exactly?"

It's a ridiculous question, because she could start a list, but there's no way she could finish it.

"I don't l know Fitz," she answers in defeat. "You. I miss you. And I know that you need your space, that you need to heal, so you don't . . . I mean I don't want to make anything worse than I already have."

"I don't think I need that much space," he says.

"Oh."

When his fingers tentatively reach out for hers, she takes his hand, and stares at the way they entwine so perfectly.

"You can, uh, you can bring those orders by in person if you'd like."

"Hmm? Oh, yes. Well, I've been informed that I'm becoming something of a nuisance."

"Yeah, well you're the boss. You can do whatever you want."

She's trying to think, but she is very distracted by the way his thumb is moving up and down her skin. He's never been like this, but the butterflies in her stomach tell her that neither has she.

Eventually, she gets around to responding to him.

"Are you just stating a fact, or?"

"More like a request."

"Right then." This is new, and strange, and maybe she still has to figure out what is going on in her heart, but right now it's abuzz with the fact that  _Leopold Fitz loves her_. 

"I think I can manage that," she adds, and she returns his grin. Let the mechanics say whatever they want. 

Simmons has her Fitz, and that's all that matters. 

**Author's Note:**

> Jemma accidentally flirting with Fitz is definitely #1 on my season 2B wish list. Just saying.


End file.
